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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794456">the fight / the fall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiexHorayne/pseuds/SophiexHorayne'>SophiexHorayne</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>found &amp; lost [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Family Member Death, Loss, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Ricky has a huge family, Suicide mentions, ricky is also really put through it in here and i feel so bad, sort of i mean it's a bit bitter sweet, tinsworth endgame, when i say major character death i'm not meaning ricky or tinsley but it is still sad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:48:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiexHorayne/pseuds/SophiexHorayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><em> “Tinsley.” Ricky swallows. His eyes are wide, wide brown. “Wh- what’re you- how are you- here- how are you alive?”</em><br/><em>Tinsley purses his lips, a strangled smile, as he steps into the room. “For the simple reason, that </em>you <em>did not kill me.”  <em></em></em><br/><em><br/><em>Slipping out of the hospital in the middle of the night, C.C. Tinsley has only one destination- Ricky Goldsworth. What happens when he reaches him, however, on the dreary little Island off of the English coast, is another matter entirely.</em><br/></em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francesca Norris/Original Female Character(s), Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>found &amp; lost [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941202</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Wake Up In A Haze</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here we goooo!! Uh, probably fair to say read the tags, I have a feeling some of this is gonna be very sad but uhhhh, sort of happy ending eventually??</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tinsley wakes up with the feeling that he hadn’t slept in days. Above him are bright white lights, either side of him are beeping machines. Wires stem from his arm, held by masking tape. He’s not alone in the room. There’s bustling, busy movement and hushed voices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smell of antiseptic stings his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Detective?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognises that voice and turns groggily to his right, where a woman sits at the chair by his bedside. She has long, wavy blonde hair, wears a suit, a hat sitting appropriately on her lap while she clutches a notebook. Tinsley frowns in bewilderment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holly?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holly Horsley smiles but it feels patronising. “That’s right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley stares back up at the bright white ceiling. He prefers it to the detective’s face. Holly’s face means none of it was a bad dream. It all floods back in a deep and sinking ache. He sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tinsley… do you remember what happened? In the cave?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naive of Holly, he thinks, to believe he’ll tell her anything at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Tinsley,” Holly says, lightly resting a hand on his arm. “We won’t let him hurt you. Not again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley closes his eyes and swallows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know Ricky’s surname? We’re all looking for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All?” He opens one eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, my friends, the police.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, he just… disappeared. Do you’ve any idea where he lives? His accent… it was like he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be American.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley remembers </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gold Isle</span>
  </em>
  <span> slipping from Ricky’s mouth one night when they talked. He shakes his head left to right anyway. Holly sighs and lowers her notebook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any family we might contact for you? We couldn’t find anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley shakes his head again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your ring… I know that you and Ricky were- but, well, everyone else, the police think… do you have a wife, Tinsley?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. She passed away a while ago.” Before Nowhere, it felt like only yesterday that Eleanor closed her eyes. Today, it feels like a lifetime has passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Holly pauses. He can hear the questions in her head so he answers them tiredly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it was a real marriage and yes, I did love her very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holly nods hurriedly. “So Ricky, then, tell me where he went.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Holly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His surname then. Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tinsley. He can’t hurt you anymore and no one is blaming you for anything that happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings his hand up to run through his hair when he notices his wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait- where’s the-” he looks frantically around, throwing off his bedsheets, searching under the pillow. Then he slides his legs off the bed to go and look in the cupboard beside him, bends over to open it and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharp pain cuts across his middle. He hisses, doubled over in agony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful.” A nurse from across the room, half listening while she went about the tasks in the room, rushes to his side and gently eases him back into the bed. “Your stitches are fresh, you have to be cautious, Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stitches,” Tinsley echoes. “Where’s all my stuff? My clothes, my bag. my bracelet.” He still tries to clamber from the bed. The nurse pushes him back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re looking after them for you Mr Tinsley,” the nurse assures. “Now you just settle down. I’ll fetch you some water now that you’re awake.” She bustles out the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley turns to Holly once more, glaring. “Where is it? They kept my ring on so what about the bracelet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holly looks hesitant for a moment but then leans down to her bag, undoes the popper. She pulls out the golden torc bracelet: all he has left of that stupid treasure. He reaches forward to take it gratefully but Holly pulls it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me his surname.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley hesitates. “I don’t know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, well...” she leans back down to the bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No no no- wait, wait.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holly looks up expectantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jackson, it’s Jackson. Ricky Jackson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what he told me, now give it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holly still looks uncertain, but reluctantly hands it across to him. He snatches it and slides it back onto his wrist. It's as heavy as it was in the cave but not quite as cold. It holds every last moment with Ricky Goldsworth. From the kiss gentle like feathers, to his wound, sharp like heartbreak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Dan Cooper is still alive. And Ricky’s family is still alive. Ricky Goldsworth is still alive. Hot anger washes over him at all those thoughts, messy and wild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about where he lives?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>Holly,” Tinsley snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse reenters with his water and he takes it with a sweet and humbled thank you. He can feel Holly’s glare in the side of his head and turns to her. “Are we done? I’m really quite exhausted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you should be resting,” the nurse tells him, turning to Holly. “Visiting hours are long since up, Detective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holly nods. “I know.” Hurriedly she gathers her things, drops her notebook in her bag. “I’ll see you soon, Tinsley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t feel very kind. It feels like a threat. Tinsley watches her leave while the nurse begins to tuck the sheets around his bed as if he were a child. He doesn’t mind entirely, although he plans to leave the moment the room becomes empty. He’s probably wasted too much time here already. His wound can hardly be </span>
  <em>
    <span>that bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, as the nurse presses the covers nicely under his chin, he thinks he could do with another little bit of rest. With any luck he’ll reawaken in a forest and Ricky will be relighting a fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No such luck. He reawakens in the hospital. He gets up and goes to the bathroom. It’s strange at night, there’s as much movement as the day, only the lights are dimmer and sometimes the nurses and doctors whisper instead of talking at a usual volume. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He locates his clothes and bag (they were in the cupboard he’d been reaching for, mercifully) and changes in the bathroom. He hated the hospital gown anyway- he’s far too tall for it. He slips out of the hospital before daylight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hails a cab somewhere down the road from the hospital, it takes him to the nearest train station in New Mexico. He jumps train after train with the little money left in his wallet. It takes days to reach Chicago. And they’re lonely days, napping on and off in train carriages and holding his rucksack tightly on his lap, trying not to think about anything, taking a few too many painkillers to take the edge off the pain near his stomach. A couple of times he buys a paper, and hides his face behind it- just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t miss Riverside once during the hunt. It’s only confirmed when he steps out of the station building and into the town. It’s not had a single ounce of colour since Eleanor died and it doesn’t now either, except for the bright red sign pointing back the way he’d come to the station. The town centre is quiet, half the shops are closed up, and no one looks his way. That’s a good thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house is a mess. The front garden has sprung up into a jungle, some of the sprigs of grass waving into his front window. His key lies in one of the pockets of his bag. He has a hard time struggling over which one, all while it hurts to stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he left the hospital prematurely. It’s okay. He can lie on the bed here for as long as he wants, it’s the exact same thing only without the noise, the pampering and the ugly gown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, the house smells musty. He’d tried to get Red from down the road to house sit but clearly he’d not been in in a while. The plants he’d managed to keep alive after El died are certainly killed off now, brown and shriveled like no life sat there at all. The kitchen is quiet, even the fridge isn’t humming. He stalks up the stairs. They creak in the exact same places they always did. He used to tread so carefully once, if he stayed up late to watch a film El wouldn’t have liked, or if he was reading late under the lamp in the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that doesn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered for a while but it still punches the exact same to remember. He drops his bag on his bed and turns at once to the closet. His clothes are musty but he can’t wait to wear something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He throws on a cotton checkered shirt and remembers that Ricky wears silk pyjamas. He shoves on a jacket and remembers Ricky wearing his. On the train he’d subtly tried to decipher if it still smelt of him. It didn’t. He isn’t sure if it ever did, because even the second jacket, the blood stained one, Ricky’s one, smells nothing of him. Only wet leaves and possibly death (that might have had to do with the bloodstains).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three days, he lasts. He gets the house in order, although he’d already done so before heading to Nowhere. He writes a letter to the local letting agency giving them permission to sell it for him and then throws it in the fire and writes one, instead, for Red down the road. His eldest daughter seems old enough to have a house of her own. She may as well take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strips the wardrobe of his clothes. It’s all he has there anyway except the pictures which he burns all of except for two. He slips them into the pages of his favourite book and then tucks it under all of his clothes in a suitcase. The moment Eleanor’s face thirteen times over hit the flames he regretted it. He can’t change it now. He still has the album with various other photos, though, slipped, also, under his clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves. Drops the letter into Red’s mailbox. And he leaves. Back on the train. Then on a boat. More days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even have a plan. He just knows that he has one direction to take. One path, one road. The one that brings him right up to Ricky Goldworth’s front door. Hopefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the boat across the Atlantic sea, he leans against the railings up on deck and slips his wedding ring off of his finger. He stares at the sea and thinks about throwing it in.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wherever You Stray (I Follow)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tinsley's reunion doesn't quite go to plan, as it's cut off by a scream</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tysm for comments on the story being back!! and now we reunite with Ricky and meet his family!!</p><p>TW: death of a parent</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The moment the ship docks at Southampton, Tinsley climbs aboard a small boat to Gold’s Isle.The boat isn’t busy, in fact he’s the only passenger. He sits at the front, below deck and watches from the window as it looms closer and closer to the island. Perhaps, he thinks, he should feel afraid or angry, or at least a little impatient. Only he doesn’t. A sort of calm washes over him as he watches the Island float closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looks peculiar. There’s a pier reaching out to off of the coast like a hand calling for help. And what can only be described from this distant view as a castle stretches out across the front of the Island, right up to the pier where it gets lost in the background amongst trees. As they get closer, a beach grows. Under all the mist it looks dull, like dust sweeping the Earth after an apocalypse. It looks washed out and miserable and Tinsley feels as neutral as the dreary grey sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boat docks, after a short hour ride, at the end of the pier. Tinsley climbs off and steps onto the paneling rotting under his feet. Gold’s Isle isn’t very golden. Wind off of the sea sweeps through his hair. He should’ve cut it before he made the journey, it’s long enough now to almost get in his eyes when the breeze is wrong. Far too late now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He treads down the pier, dragging his case behind him, the wheels bumping ceremoniously along the planks. He hopes Ricky won’t mind all the luggage. Who is he kidding, it probably isn’t Ricky he needs worry about. At the end of the pier is a bright red kiosk, selling tickets for boat rides. An old man sits behind the perspex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeeess?” the man says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley swallows. “I uh- I’m looking for the residents of the Goldsworths? I don’t know if you’ve heard of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha. Heard of ‘em?! You’re jokin’ ent ya! What’re ya doin’ ‘ere, anyway, your voice it’s all-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m from America,” Tinsley explains hurriedly, “and yeah, I just thought my friend was overcompensating his position here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, no Sir the Goldworths are... well you put a foot wrong, they know about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. So where…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The manor, down the road! You can’t miss it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Thanks.” He steps back and makes to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey hold on, which one of ‘em are ya after?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because if I remember rightly one of ‘em did go to America recently, yes with the Master, just can’t remember which one you see, so many children in that family- well I suppose they’re not children no more, although some of them still are, I mean little Aiden why he’s only-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay, I can find my way now, thank you,” Tinsley says, cutting him off hurriedly, bored of the almost incoherent rambling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh err, alright, Sir, but I warn ya, you wanna be careful getting involved with those people.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead against the perspex and fogging it with his breath. He speaks quietly. “They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley nods. “Thank you, Sir, I- believe me I know. I’ll be on my guard.” He forces a smile and hurries off, leaving the pier behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drags his suitcase along the esplanade. It’s pretty in it’s own strange little way. The sand still appears more like dust in the cloudy, dreary English light and the streets are quiet, but it has character. Even the wall running along above the sand, with its mix match of coloured rocks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The manor, or castle as Tinsley is more inclined to call, isn't far away, about a five, ten minute walk from the pier. Out the front, on the edge of the sea, just before the sand below, sits a tower, small, tall, crenelations wrapping around the top like a turret. Opposite this is the entrance to the Goldsworths’ manor. Gates- wide open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around before slowly stepping onto the other side of the walls. When nothing bad happens he trudges up the short driveway. Grass stretches either side of the dusty road, short, strangely perfect, a thin run of front garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps up to the doors, two huge wooden things, painted red, and raps on the knocker. He waits, runs a hand through his hair. The building seems to carry on as far as he can see, tall and dark. The door rattles, a bold sliding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An old man opens the door. He’s wearing a black suit. His hair, what’s left of it, is white around his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi… I’m here to see Ricky.” Tinsley has become increasingly sure this was a mistake. He’s nearly certain now. Ricky probably doesn’t want to see him. He shouldn’t want to see Ricky. Maybe he doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ricardo?” the old man says, looking Tinsley up and down in confusion. “He’s in the Billiard Room. This way.” He steps aside and lets Tinsley in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hall is vast and lit with candelabras on the wall. It’s a wash of reds and browns. The old man closes the door, slides across the bolt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way, Sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving his suitcase in the hall, Tinsley follows the man across the house, through long, thin hallways. Paintings line up along the inside wall (the outside wall lined with dainty windows). They’re family paintings, 7 children, two adults, a woman with a baby on her lap, as much as Tinsley can gather as they wander past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man takes Tinsley towards a room on the left. He knocks lightly on the open door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ricardo? Visitor for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell them I’m busy, Fear,” comes the snappy reply. Tinsley steps up to the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a large room, a bar on one side, although it’s empty. In the centre is a pool table. Or snooker, Tinsley doesn’t know the difference. Bent over the table, lining a cue up with the white ball, is Ricky Goldsworth. He’s wearing a grey suit, not a crease in it despite his lean against the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure look busy,” Tinsley says, keeping his voice steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky Goldsworth looks up, dropping the snooker cue on the table as if it no longer exits to him. Neither notice Fear leave but he does, leaving Tinsley watching Ricky cautiously. Tinsley wants to believe he has the upper hand here, all the control, because this time he is the one surprising Ricky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky is dressed up. It’s not just the grey suit (minus a tie), it’s his slicked back hair and the shiny rings on his fingers. The gold chain around his neck. He looks every bit handsome, in completely criminal way that makes Tinsley’s heart stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tinsley.” Ricky swallows. His eyes are wide, wide brown. “What- what’re you- how are you… here- how are you alive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley purses his lips into a strangled smile, as he steps into the room. “For the simple reason, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>did not kill me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky swallows. He’s trying not to react but instead it’s making him frozen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to see you,” Tinsley says, staring down at him, taking in his eyes, his wet lips, his skin, smooth and clean shaven now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing here?” Ricky asks. “You… you can’t be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know, but I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t get the treasure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget the fucking treasure,” Tinsley snaps. He takes a breath. “I just, I’ve been thinking and… I feel that, perhaps, in the cave, I was wrong. Well not </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> but… well I could have handled it differently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tinsley please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just… just listen, alright? Then you can- I don’t know- finish me off, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tinsley…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I… in the cave… I know I said that you were-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A high pitched scream rings out and echoes through the manor. Ricky looks suddenly alarmed, “Fran.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He speeds across the room, out the door at the far end. Tinsley hurries after him, trying to keep up as he dashed down the hallways, shoes heavy on the stone floors. Somehow, after a maze of halls and a vast ground floor stairwell, they came out into a garden, small, fenced by bright green, tall hedges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky flies out the open door and stops dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are other family members there, staring at the ground where Ricky stares. Someone’s lying on the grass, someone else is sitting beside them, a young woman, sobbing. An older lad squeezes the shoulders of a boy surely no more than eleven. Fear pulls an older woman into his shoulder as she cries quietly, his other arm around a younger woman who must be under 20. A couple of boys fly out the door, brushing past Tinsley and hitting him in the shoulder, not even noticing his presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad!” One of them shouts, flying down to the body on the grass, shoving a sibling half out of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley turns his attention back to Ricky who’s standing a little in front of him. He steps up to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he starts, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky blinks, still staring at the body. Tinsley glances at it too. A man, older but not old, lying with his eyes closed. His hair greying at the edges, his stubble nearer white. He’s wearing a black waistcoat over a plain white shirt. There’s barely a ruffle on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ricky...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky pushes Tinsley back and steps over to the body, kneeling down beside him. He leans over and rests two fingers against his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ricky, I’ve already tried,” the young woman the other side of the body tries. “He’s gone.” Tears stream down her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… but he doesn’t even look- he’s not even hurt.” Ricky runs his hands down his father’s clothes, undoes the buttons on his waistcoat as if searching for a wound behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps poison,” Tinsley can’t help but say. Ricky snaps his head around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you still here?” he snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait… who even is this?” One of the older boys says, the one holding the shoulders of the youngest child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of your business, Tian,” Ricky snaps. “And he’s leaving.” He casts Tinsley a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley rolls his eyes, “Come on. Let me help, I can find out who did it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean who did it?” Ricky snaps. “His heart’s been dodgy for ages, he must’ve had a heart attack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet your first thought is to look for an injury?” Tinsley points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky glares, “Just get out!” He points to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a detective?” The youngest boy. Tinsley looks over to him and smiles pleasantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” he replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you sound like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley grins a little more. “I’m an American Detective,” he explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you meet Ricky while treasure hunting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aiden.” The same warning tone from both Ricky and Tian. The younger boy quiets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, no that’s exactly where I met him.” He isn’t sure how far to push it, though because Ricky’s still glaring. He might attempt to murder him again at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you say you’re a detective?” the older woman crying into Fear’s shoulder asks. There’s a handkerchief balled up in her hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ll find out who did this to my husband?” She lifts her head and dries her eyes with a handkerchief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, if it’s what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mum!” Ricky objects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, Ricky, it’s clear your friend’s shown up just at the right time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky frowns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit too perfect if you ask me,” one of the boys sitting at their father’s side mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up Theo,” Ricky snaps before turning back to Tinsley. “I’ll let you do this. But you don’t get to go near me, you don’t get to talk to me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ricky, don’t be ridiculous honey,” His mother says, gently. “After he’s gathered everything he needs, you should take your Detective to Bluebeard’s inn uptown and tell them I’m paying for a room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mumm</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You clearly know him the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley tries not to smirk at Ricky’s disagreeing frown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright well do we… should we not call someone?” Tinsley asks. “I won’t say police, but, a hospital, perhaps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, oh yes.” Mrs Goldsworth wipes her eyes once more. “Fear, you go and fetch someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right away ma’am.” He makes off at once. Tinsley stares after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Traditionally I wouldn’t let anyone leave the scene,” Tinsley says, “but no matter.” He straightens his jacket and makes way between the siblings to the man on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky watches, arms folded, frowning grumpily. His mother wanders over to him and squeezes his shoulders. Tinsley turns his attention to the body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Goldsworth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a large man, the small buttons on his shirt a little strained. Tinsley checks him over much as Ricky had. Certainly no injuries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does his stomach seem inflated to you all?” Tinsley asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you calling our father fat?” The young woman opposite him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not, I’m just… if it’s poison or an internal injury…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The family looks a little blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I’m not a doctor!” Tinsley points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Useless,” Ricky mutters. “I knew it, he just likes silly little puzzles and dead people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley whirls around, “Do you want me to figure this out or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky’s quiet. Tinsley doesn’t really want to solve Mr Goldsworth’s death. He just wants to take his son away and lie under a thousand stars with him forever. He missed him. Every moment since he woke, he missed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should wait for a doctor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit late for that,” mutters one of the boys on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the </span>
  <em>
    <span>meantime</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tinsley says, “we should calm ourselves, yes? How about I make tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Detective, you needn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no problem Mrs Goldsworth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slips through the back door and hears footsteps plod along the floor after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My mother insists I show you to the kitchen,” Ricky grumbles, catching up to him. “But I still don’t want you to talk to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky holds a hand up to silence him. For some reason Tinsley just lets him. Ricky makes the teas and coffees; he knows how everyone likes it. Everyone likes it slightly differently. Tinsley just watches and wishes he has something to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry for your loss </span>
  </em>
  <span>feels wrong. He isn’t sorry, for a start, and really, it doesn’t feel like a loss either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already said </span>
  <em>
    <span>I missed you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to restart their conversation from the Billiard Room and he doesn’t wish to antagonise Ricky anymore than he already has, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He carries the tray of five teas, two coffees and one hot chocolate into a large living room. All eyes stare at him when he enters. He places the tray in the centre of the room, awkwardly. Ricky has six siblings, as far as Tinsley can count. They sit across three sofas, while their mother stands at the window, leaning against the open curtain and peering through the voile. She’s silent and almost frozen. Ricky brings over her coffee and she takes it, although barely reacts to it’s presence, doesn’t seem to register that it is a drink at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other siblings help themselves to their drinks, squabbling over which tea has which amount of sugar, Tinsley barely remembering himself. Ricky perches on the arm of the nearest sofa and Tinsley just stares at them all, standing in front of the ground with his hands on his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he could remember exactly what Ricky had already told him about each of them. He knows about the oldest, Christian, but better known as Tian. He was jealous of Ricky going to America, always dreamt of travelling the world. Then there’s the two twins, Theo and Damian. Then their half-sister, Francesca. Tinsley decides she must have been the one sitting beside Mr Goldsworth in the grass. Ricky’s close to her, they’re always on one another’s sides. Then there’s Jennier- Jen for short. She’s sporty, if he remembers rightly, liked sailing. Ricky taught her how to fish. The youngest is Aiden, eleven. Ricky’s got a soft spot for him, not that he explicitly said so, but he always spoke about him with a smile on his face. Ricky would kill for that boy. He’d kill for anyone. Any of the Goldsworth would kill anyone to save their family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to believe they’d kill one of their own. Perhaps their father’s death was accidental. Perhaps Tinsley is about to accuse the most dangerous family he’s ever known of a murder that never even took place. But accuses them, he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where was everyone over the past day?” he starts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The siblings begin to talk over each other, arguing about their whereabouts. Tinsley looks to Ricky for help but he doesn’t even look at him, stares at his nails, glaring at them, picking at skin that needn’t be picked at. He looks back to the group and clears his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” he starts, loud enough to hush most of the bickering, “One at a time, age order?” He turns to Tian, who rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been here, reading, in my room. Look, none of us would have done this, Detective. It’s… barbaric to say we would.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>accusing </span>
  </em>
  <span>any of you, I am merely constructing a timeline, figure out who saw your father last. So you were reading, did you see your father at any point?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At breakfast. And he was fine then, we all were,” Tian answers with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley turns to the twins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s creeping me out that he knows who is who,” Theo says, glancing across at Ricky. “You tell him your life story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I barely said anything,” Ricky replies, not looking up from his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I was out this morning.” Theo says, vaguely. Tinsley looks at him pointedly. “It’s none of your business, I wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was I. I got back at 12 and… got changed, chatted to Dame,” he pauses and gestures to his brother beside him, “and then we heard the screaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which brings us to…” Tinsley finds Francesca. She’s got her legs tucked up behind her on the sofa, staring vacantly into her mug of tea, clutching so fiercely Tinsley almost expects it to break. “Francesca.” Her eyes flick up to him, but she just shrugs and looks back down. “Well, perhaps you were angry at your father for his affair,” he starts. “were you close?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley isn’t really aware of the shocked and frozen looks of the little family, until Ricky slips off of the sofa and drags him out the room, roughly pinching his arm under his jumper sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow would you- that hurts-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky slams shut the living room door and shoves Tinsley into the wall beside it. For a moment it’s overwhelmingly familiar, Ricky up so close, his eyes dancing. It makes Tinsley’s head spin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your </span>
  <em>
    <span>problem</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Ricky hisses. “You can’t just- come in here and accuse my family of hating my Dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>hated him,” Tinsley points out. It doesn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said that,” Ricky snaps, shaking him a little, “Fran </span>
  <em>
    <span>adored</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dad, she learnt everything from him. Now he’s gone, there’s barely a legal reason for her to stay here, you realise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley laughs. “Like you lot care about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>law</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point- sometimes, she feels like she shouldn’t be here,” he whispers loudly. “Imagine how she feels now he’s gone?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley thinks, breathes heavily. Ricky’s chest is pressed against his body and it’s making it hard to think. So close, Ricky, so warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Tinsley says. “I’m just… trying to learn the dynamics here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a final shove, Ricky steps back, leaving Tinsley’s chest cool and empty. “The dynamic is we’re all very happy. We’re a team.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. But your Dad was awful to you. You expect me to think you all worshipped him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky frowns. “You don’t know anything about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you know that’s a lie,” Tinsley answers, bravely lifting his hand to Ricky’s cheek, gently brushing his thumb along his skin. It feels so good to hold him again that his fingers are almost trembling. “I believe I know more about you than anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few moments Ricky’s frozen, staring back at him like he knows more about Tinsley than anyone, too. Then he slaps Tinsley’s hand away, “Just… talk to us like human beings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrenches open the door handle with more force than necessary and Tinsley follows him back into the room. Ricky drags a small wooden chair from the wall up to the horseshoe-shape of sofas, sits it in front for everyone to see, except Mrs Goldsworth, who remains at the window. The chair seems rickety, rather sorry for itself. Tinsley gives it a shake to check its sturdiness before sitting. It doesn’t give way under his weight, so there’s that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he begins, carefully this time. He forces a smile. “I apologise, I’m a little rusty on how to do things, it’s been a while. Just, you may all continue with your rundowns of the day. I won’t butt in with cruel notions.” He glances at Ricky. Ricky doesn’t glance back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Aiden’s finished explaining his day in the garden, then his stroll to the beach to meet his friends, his ice cream, and his piano practise before playing snooker with Ricky, Tinsley turns his attention to their mother. Even Ricky had explained his day, begrudgingly, and with a few dramatic glares. Either he is pissed for no reason (it’s as if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tinsley</span>
  </em>
  <span> stabbed </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>) or he’s overcompensating for the benefit of his family. He can’t decide which is more plausible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs Goldsworth?” Tinsley begins, quietly, turning around in his chair to face her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nurses her mug of coffee. “Call me Lucy,” she answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Lucy… when did you last see your husband?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lunch perhaps. We had it early, twelve. We were done before Aiden came home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright… and what did you do after that?” Tinsley asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Went into my study. I write, you see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. And you came out when you heard the screams too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucy nods into her coffee. Across the room, Fran sniffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was just lying there,” Fran says. A tear drops into her tea. It seems to begin a domino effect of tears, Aiden breaking into sobs, Damian holding him tightly, at breaking point himself, Mrs Goldsworth wiping her eyes. The others start to break too, but when Tinsley finds Ricky he’s just staring into his coffee. Almost bored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley isn’t sure what to make of it. Or what to do about the rest of them. Thankfully, the door squeaks open, and Fear returns with a Doctor and an ambulance, although it’s too late for both such things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor assumes a heart attack, but takes the body away to conduct a postmortem. Tinsley doesn't like being there. Francesca and Lucy follow the stretcher as if he may still be alive. But Leo Goldsworth is undoubtedly dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucy refuses dinner. Fran retires to bed before seven. The others pick at their food and although Tinsley could eat the whole plateful, he doesn’t, in some weird and ironic way, out of politeness. Ricky eats, although doesn’t finish everything. Leaves vegetables mushy in leftover gravy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor calls back after dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a heart attack after all, he says, poison, without doubt, traces of cyanide found in his blood, and likely wiped from his lips after death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley leaves a broken house that night. Not a house of killers. Just a broken family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping their agreement with Lucy Goldsworth, Ricky walks Tinsley to the inn- Bluebeard’s. It’s above the local pub, is all Ricky says, not just about the inn, but in general. He doesn't say another word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fog is heavy, rolling in over the sea, ready to swallow the island at any moment. The two of them amble along the esplanade, cold in the September air. Tinsley isn’t really prepared for this weather, didn’t bring any sort of warm coat, he’ll find somewhere to buy one tomorrow. Light has left Gold’s Isle for the night, streetlights glimmering over the path, sort of a half-guidance. But it’s a kind of light that makes Ricky glow. Tinsley keeps trying not to look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky’s silence feels almost angry, unnerving. It makes Tinsley feel as though they are walking, instead, through the sea, and he has to assure they keep afloat. But he’s running out of energy- the silence frustrates him. Thing is, he’s not entirely sure what Ricky’s angry about. He’s always </span>
  <em>
    <span>been </span>
  </em>
  <span>a little hot tempered but this feels different. Like it’s bundled up because of something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s heard that sometimes people are angry when they grieve. Actually, not just heard. Grieving widows and mothers shouting, screaming, tearing apart his office because he is yet to solve the case of their dead spouses or missing children. Hurt people become angry people. He doesn’t think Leo Goldsworth’s death is hurting Ricky. Does Tinsley’s sudden reappearance have something to do with it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to ask. But… he also hasn’t any particular yearning to have Ricky kill him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…” he starts, not really sure where he’s taking it, “how are you?” He knows there were better places he could have taken it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t try small talk Tinsley,” Ricky snaps, kicking up a small pile of sand that’s snuck up from the beach. The path is riddled with the stuff. Tinsley’s already bothered by it, his suitcase wheels are going to be caked in it by the time they reach the inn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So instead may we jump straight to your feelings about your Father’s death?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky stops on the cobbles and whirls around to face him, “You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>jump </span>
  </em>
  <span>anywhere. Unless it’s on a ferry back home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley steps over to the wall overlooking the ocean. Small fuzzy lights are scattered across the horizon, a glimmer of mainland breaking through the fog. He sets his suitcase beside him, coming to a stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t… go home, Ricky,” he says. A wind picks up off the sea. It’s not comfortable. And yet… he’s comfortable. He looks at his fingers. On his wrist the bracelet. On his wedding finger… a bright white patch of skin, a thin band that hasn’t seen the sun in so long. The haunting absence of a ring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky edges up to the wall, tentatively rests his fingers on it, gazes out at the same view. For the first time in too long, their eyes fall upon the same view. Dull, dark and almost void of anything. But the same nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley starts again,  trying all over, what he really wants to say. “Be honest with me for a sec, Ricky… just once… what did it mean to you, our time together? I mean… was it all a lie, that whole time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish it was,” Ricky replies, folding his arms over on the wall. The wind flutters his upturned coat collar, tugs at the outer strands of his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley swallows and looks back at the sea. It looks black as a midnight sky, like a great hole in the Earth right before them. “You know… for a long time I wasn’t sure why I was even coming here. I think… on the boat over here from America, I pictured killing you in… at least eight different ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky’s lips twitched, some invisible force tugging at the corners. “Just 8?” he asks. “For you I imagined 33.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley’s not certain what to make of that, but finds himself oddly flattered. The light from the streetlamp washes over Ricky Goldsworth like he’s made for such light. Like he was born out of the darkness of the night and bathed in rich amber. He’s so elegant, the collar of his jacket turned up against the cold, his dark hair hiding him in shadows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I thought about it,” Tinsley continues eventually, “revenge. But by the time the boat had docked in England all I… I just wanted to see you again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky sighs, his breath swirling with the crawling fog, like they’re both entangled into some kind of dance. “Father…” he begins quietly, “he… noticed I was quiet, on the way home. He… reckoned that the hunt had turned me soft, even though I won, he reckoned I looked weak at the edges. He made the plane do loop-the-loops, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God </span>
  </em>
  <span>I hate, those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley realises that he’s crying, Ricky. Briskly he swipes the runaway tear slipping down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t feel anything now he’s gone,” Ricky admits. “And I’m… staring at all the others in tears and just… wondering how they can cry over the same man who… hurt mother and… bullied all of us. Everyone. He held us all under this tight thumb. I don’t think it has ever been the Goldworths in charge of this place. It was always just him, in charge of the world. Even… thousands of miles away, he was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>in my head,” he wipes his eyes again and stares out at the sea. Sea stares back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can be free now.” Tinsley tries but Ricky’s shaking his head before he’s finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll never not hear him,” he says, “at every turn I take.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like the cave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The cave…” he lets out a shaky breath, “the cave, the murders, even fishing I…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… you didn’t want to do it, kill me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky glances at him. “No,” he says, looking away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tinsley says quietly. “Then it’s all okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there for a while until the wind gets too rough and Tinsley visibly shivers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Ricky decides. “Mother will wonder what’s taking so long. She’s a whole other story.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley pulled a smile and they continued along the esplanade. Although the wind is rougher, it feels somehow warmer now. Ricky’s hands are still shoved in his pockets and Tinsley’s biting back a shudder of cold. But it’s warmer. Tinsley stops feeling like he has to hold his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pass the pier and cross the road, strolling past closed little shops and restaurants. The inn’s wedged in the middle of the street, laughter erupting from punters inside. It’s a small building, green painted exterior with a little advertising wooden board outside. Tinsley doesn’t spare it a second glance before Ricky pushes the small brown door open. Everyone goes quiet when they bustle in. Ricky ignores it, it’s almost as though he doesn’t notice as he glides over the bar, leaning against the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jessie.” He smiles warmly up at the young woman behind the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evening Ricky.” She forces a smile. “Your usual?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, no, I need a room, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just the night? Ricky, my Father’s been telling me that I can’t keep letting you-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no we’re not- it’s just  for Tinsley, here, I’m not staying. And he needs it for… a while.” Ricky explains, vaguely gesturing to Tinsley standing awkwardly behind him. Tinsley’s a little preoccupied with the surrounding punters, either staring or trying not to look at all. All holding their breaths. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well we’re actually full from tom-” she catches the glimmer in Ricky’s eyes and forces a smile, “We’ll find room, I’m sure.” She fumbles under the counter. “Here’s the key to room 2, currently empty.” She holds it out for Tinsley to take, a small gold key with a leather fob on the ring with it, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>2</span>
  </em>
  <span> stitched into it. He takes it awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” he manages.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just up the stairs on the left.” she forces a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Jessie,” Ricky says. “You can put it on the Goldsworths’ tab.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a drink it doesn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky looks at her pointedly. She nods mutely and Ricky loses interest, leaning against the bar to look up at Tinsley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says. “I suppose I’ll be forced to come and meet you in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley swallows. “Right.” He wants to ask him to stay or at least, he wants to kiss him goodnight. But still, everyone is staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Tinsley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries not to look across the room, swallows. “Night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky nods and slips past him out of the room. He watches him go, watches him open the door and close it behind him without looking back. Then he pushes down the handle on his suitcase, preparing to carry it up the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What business do you have with the Goldworths?” Jessie asks, leaning in intrigue against the bar. Her fears lost now Ricky’s disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley presses his lips into a thin line, “Visiting an old friend.” he replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saw an ambulance coming from that direction earlier ‘aday,” A man at a table by the bar, “Sommat to do with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley heads to the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Ere! Lad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley pounds up the stairs. He finds his room and shoves his way inside. Tiredness hits him all at once. He’s not had a goodnight’s sleep since he woke up in the hospital. It catches up on him and he falls asleep thinking of how Ricky Goldsworth glowed under streetlights.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope this is okay?? There are bits i'm a bit ehh on but it won't really work when I change them (I've changed the house description so many times idek if it makes sense now but i hope it's sort of okay?) lol, should be a a new part soon- interested to know ur thoughts :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Life's Alright (In Devil Town)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm not a huge fan of this chapter tbh?? but the next one's better i think! also yeah this one's titled after devil town by cavetown bc i can be boring (like most chapters arent named with 5sos lyrics lmfao) Also Ricky's still moody here; he's such a child</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a nice room. The bedcovers are an off-gold, more yellowy, with quaint white patterning along it. Once Tinsley’s awake he opens the curtains and gazes out at the sea. The buildings are visible on the horizon now, mainland a white fuzzy silhouette in the distance. He has a view of the pier. For the first time he notices that the tide is out; the sand seems to almost reach the mainland,stretching for what seems like miles, beige and untouched. Directly below his window is the road, the odd car rushing past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After throwing on a jacket, black and cotton, he slips from his room and pads down the steps. It’s early but Jessie is behind the bar, clattering about with glasses. She smiles at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning Tinsley. That’s your name, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley nods. “That’s me. What would you recommend for breakfast?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessie grins. “There’s the Shipman’s!” she suggests. “It’s just a few buildings down, on the corner of the highstreet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People are talking you know,” she continues before he can reach the door, “about the Goldsworths. Has something happened? Perhaps you’re replacing their butler and the ambulance took him away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley can’t help the small laugh escape his throat. He turns to face her. “You’ve no idea how wrong you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not really my place,” he answers. “I’ll see you later.” He slips out the cafe and into the early morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not cold, but it’s fairly fresh. He’s gotten frustratingly used to early mornings, and he struggles to sleep these days once the sun’s come up. Perhaps that’s not a terribly bad thing. Gulls are loud, annunciating the morning as they streak across the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He plods down the road with his hands in his pockets. He’ll see Ricky later. He’ll talk to the Goldworths more. Perhaps he’ll get a moment alone with Ricky. Perhaps he won’t. But he hopes so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bell rattles above his head when he opens the shabby red door to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shipman’s. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A few groups gather at tables, gorging on English breakfasts or treacle-drowned pancakes. The air smells amazing. Tinsley only realises his hunger as the door swings shut and rattles into place behind him. The smell of sizzling bacon and fried bread making him frightfully aware of his emptiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits at a table near the window. The seat sinks as he sits, as if it’s cushion’s been removed. He picks up a menu tucked behind salt and pepper shakers and scans through the options. He’d eat any of it, but settles for a bacon sandwich.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he waits he hones in on the various hushed conversations around the room. He doesn’t exactly mean to listen, but it’s easy to tune in when people throw around words like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Goldsworths</span>
  </em>
  <span> so loudly. He pretends to continue reading the menu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I heard that Fear finally kicked the bucket.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I heard Lucy Goldsworth collapsed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps they lost another kid, another Goldsworth bites the dust.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley shifts in his seat, frowns at the menu. A young waitress brings out his sandwich and he smiles and slips her a tip before tucking in like he’s not eaten in days. The conversations continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t think they’ve finally lost it, turned on each other.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Perhaps it’s something to do with Ricardo,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> someone else offers from behind him. It takes everything in Tinsley, to hold himself back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been good. There must have been at least ten people he pictured killing on his journey from New Mexico to England but he knew it was a bad idea to draw any unwanted attention to himself. He’s sure the police are probably after him, and Holly Horsley is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>after him. So he has to be careful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe his father finally had enough of the queer.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley closes his eyes. He’s gripping the final piece of sandwich so tightly that oily butter begins to seep into his fingers. He hears the group laugh. He can’t draw attention. Not just for Holly’s sake but the Goldsworths. It’s probably best not to let on about his acquaintance with the family unless necessary. So he bites his tongue, stuffs the last bit of sandwich in his mouth and rustles through his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slams somewhere around the correct amount of money on the table then thunders out, slamming the red door behind him. He’s in a foul mood as he stalks back down the road, glaring at the pavement ahead of him. So he doesn’t see the man walking the other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky’s voice. He looks up and relaxes at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he says, reaching him. Ricky’s leaning against the wall of the inn, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the hell have you been, I said I’d meet you in the morning. Obviously I assumed you slept in but Jessie told me you’d already left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went for breakfast,” Tinsley replies with a nonchalant shrug. “I hope you’ve not waited long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three minutes,” Ricky answers, “so long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley can’t help but roll his eyes, “Almost forgot about your ridiculous impatience.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky smiles and stares back up at him. “You miss it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” He breaks into a smile as Ricky frowns. “I’m kidding, missed everything about you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds Ricky gently gazing up at him. He looks tired, eyes pinky around the edges. Tinsley wonders whether to kiss him. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s just that… well the town’s springing to life and he’s not sure it would be the best for anyone to see them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Ricky starts and the spell breaks. The sound of gulls squawking and cars rumbling floods back into Tinsley’s head. “Today I was thinking, I should show you around, let you learn about the place, the people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley looks at him curiously, “Aren’t I supposed to be solving your Father’s murder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Ricky says. “This’ll help. I’ll tell you about all my suspects.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ricky I don’t think-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it wasn’t a Goldsworth. No Goldsworth would ever poison another. No matter what.” Ricky begins to walk back the way Tinsley had just come. With little energy to object, Tinsley walks alongside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But how would they get in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky shrugs. “We leave the gates open often. No one would dare trespass, but it’s interesting to see if anyone would.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re different,” Ricky says quickly.“Dame and Jen were on lookout that morning. You’re a stranger. They weren’t going to kill you so don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m worried now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky smiles, more at the ground than Tinsley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pass </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shipman’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>and turn left uphill into a highstreet. Shops line the roads but there are few shoppers and most buildings are closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much life here.” Tinsley says, running his fingers lightly along a shop’s shabby windowsill. Inside, the building’s empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We demand a certain percentage of profits go to us, the Goldsworths. The townsfolk seem to find that deterring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wonder why,” Tinsley says sarcastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad’s idea not mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it’ll change now?” Tinsley asks, genuinely interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Ricky answers. A single car trundles down the road, roof open. Ricky watches it until he has to stretch his head to see it behind them. “I don’t know if Tian will take over. Or mum. I don’t think Tian will want to. Then it falls to the twins I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>change it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter,” Ricky says. “There’ll always be someone above me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No but… hypothetically.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky wrinkles his nose. “Maybe I’d change stuff, I don’t know. I just go along with it.” Tinsley nods and they walk up the steepest part of the hill in silence, trying not to puff once they reach the top. Ricky guides them left, drifting away from town and towards houses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, the whole town’s talking about it, yesterday. The ambulance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expect. What’re they saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All sorts. That Fear’s gone, your mother collapsed, that you- that you all lost another child?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems to hurt Ricky a little. They cross the road before he says anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isobel,” He explains. They walk alongside a low wall running along a street of houses. “She was unexpected, Mum’s getting older y’know. And she was fine. A healthy baby, happy. She’d gotten to that stage where she recognised people, got upset if me or mother or Aiden left her in a room. And then one night she... she just died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” Tinsley says, “That’s awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We still have the cot. I find mum staring at it sometimes. Standing in the nursery. Just staring at the empty cot.” Ricky sighs as if to shake the heavy feeling away into the air. “She never got over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley tries to think of anything better to say. There’s nothing. “So now your dad’s…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I don’t know what mum’s going to do. She didn’t have breakfast this morning. Fear said he’d make sure she eats later. I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In some sort of offering of comfort, Tinsley lightly takes a hold of his sleeve, squeezing his arm. Ricky pauses on the path, looks at him, then his hand. He reaches his hand up and takes Tinsley’s hand from his sleeve and into his palm. It makes Tinsley feel strange, almost giddy. So long, it feels like, since they held hands through miles and miles of forests. It’s different to before, after everything, and in the middle of a town where anyone may see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t let go, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky takes him around most of the Island, which, once you’ve weaved through streets and streets of houses and homes, it starts feeling less like an island and more like a standard town. Ricky tells him about the butcher, a jeweller, some teachers, an ex police officer and so many others that probably dislike the Goldsworths enough to kill. Tinsley just listens and holds Ricky’s hand as he guides him around the homes, little corner shops and fancy restaurants and century old pubs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this…” Ricky brings them to a stop at a large building some way out of town. They’re almost walking through fields. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a wide cottage, tall and grand, trees in the front garden hiding as much of the front drive as the house itself. There’s a black car parked on the shingle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the residence of the Coopers.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly Tinsley finds himself paying attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As in… Dan Cooper,” he checks. Ricky nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dan’s house, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Big,” Tinsley comments, “just for him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His parents left it to him. Not like… they’re not dead they just got a bigger place. They got on well with my Father, that’s how we became friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Tinsley says. “So he lives here alone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Ricky gives him a funny look. “What are you thinking? Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley holds up his hands, dropping Ricky’s for the first time in what feels like hours, “I’m not thinking nothing!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky squints at him suspiciously. “No one’s killing Dan Cooper,” he says, “and honestly I don’t think he killed my Dad either. My dad loved him, actually, I think he wanted to trade me for him. My dad was the first person Dan told when I… you know, tried to kiss him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley takes his hand again and gives it a small squeeze, “You don’t deserve that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky shrugs, brushes it off as though he doesn’t wish to talk about it. “There’s one more thing I wanna show you. It’s not really… it’s nothing about people it’s just...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls Tinsley’s hand to lead him to a small footpath hidden by the trees overhanging the fence around Cooper’s front garden. They trudge down it for a while, the path damp but not muddy. It soon becomes steep. If it hadn’t been for the treasure hunt he’d be puffing before halfway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, though, they make it, standing on the top of hills, gazing back down at the Island all around them. The wind’s heavier up the top, completely destroying Tinsley’s hair and even rustling Ricky’s. Mainland’s faded in the furthest distance, barely a line on the horizon. The sea is huge, engulfs them from every angle. But it’s beautiful, the hills rolling down into villages. Cooper’s house is a dot right below them and not too far off, Goldsworth Manor pokes through trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautiful right?” Ricky says, leaning his head on Tinsley’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm.” Tinsley agrees, dropping his hand from Ricky’s and instead wrapping his arm around his shoulders. It draws Ricky closer until they’re hugging, wrapping their arms around each other, closing their eyes so they can’t even see the view at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I didn’t kill you,” Ricky murmurs into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley laughs a little. “Well thank God for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky lifts his head and smiles. “I don’t know what we might have done if you weren’t here. With Dad I… think that the whole island would be in chaos by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve literally done nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you’ve, you give them hope,” Ricky says, “that you’ll find the answer.” He almost frames it as a question, this hopeful intonation to his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best,” Tinsley promises. “But you know I… I’m here for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> not to solve a murder.” He leans a little closer, cautious even though he is sure he needn’t be so. Ricky’s eyes drop briefly to his lips before he closes his eyes. Tinsley’s about to kiss him when he notices figures in the distance. He pulls back a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are people coming,” he says quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky sighs and looks round. He groans. “We probably shouldn’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley swallows. He wishes it was easier. He’s prepared to simply wait for them to walk passed but Ricky tugs at his arm and heads back towards the path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go, told mum I’d have you back so you could discuss suspects with her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Tinsley thinks. Hard. It just wouldn’t make sense… why now? Why would someone in the village want to kill him </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Nothing seems to have changed. And why poison him. It means getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>in </span>
  </em>
  <span>the house to poison Leo’s food or drink. It doesn’t add up to him. Although he doesn’t know how to say this until they’re standing at the gates of the manor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Ricky tugs at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Tinsley starts, careful, “how would someone from the village poison your father? I mean you had no visitors until me and he was dead by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you didn’t sneak in beforehand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley blinks. “Are you honestly accusing me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re accusing us!” Ricky snaps back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s poison, Ricky! It’s intimate, he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>his killer. I’m certain of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ricky glares. “Fine,” he snaps. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow. When you’ve had more of a think about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> suspects.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley sighs. “Ricky…” but he’s already strolling through the gates. And to prove a point, he takes both huge heavy gates one by one and pushes them shut. When he’s managed to have them meet in the middle he shoves the bolt across.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being ridiculous.” Tinsley says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Tinsley,” Ricky says before turning and storming up the path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley leans against the outside wall and closes his eyes. He stares between the tree branches dangling over the wall at the clouds. He thought he had everything figured out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoes scrape against tarmac and it makes Tinsley look up sharply. A man, tall but not quite as much as Tinsley, stares back at him. At least, he’s probably staring but it’s impossible to tell where his eyes are actually looking because he’s wearing black sunglasses. The glasses match the man’s dark hair and black suit. He’s smoking a cigarette, and Tinsley can tell he’s had a lot of them over his time because he’s skinny and almost frail, especially around his neck and chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” Tinsley starts. He’s sure he should have just said nothing and simply hurried back to the inn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More appropriate the other way around don’t you think?” the man points out. His voice seemed to sing in this low, drawly received pronunciation, dragging out the vowels in </span>
  <em>
    <span>around</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You’re not from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Tinsley answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’re you doing here? Specifically against the wall of this place.” He gestures at it with his cigarette, knocking as to the ground as he does so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man looks back at him funny, somewhere between amusement and anger overshadowed with confusion. “I’m only passing,” he replies finally, and proves the point by walking on down the path, past the gates and down the esplanade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinsley watches him go, wondering whether to follow or not. He decides against it and heads back to the inn instead. It feels like rain in the air anyway.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>they reunite next chapter i promise!!! will probably be up soon, love you all sm!! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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